


A Seed In Barren Lands

by Lizardbeth



Series: A Seed in Barren Lands [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Child Abuse, Community: marvel_bang, F/M, Loki Has Issues, Odin's Parenting, Post-Avengers Asgard, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardbeth/pseuds/Lizardbeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sif visits Loki in his cell, ready to confront the monster. The truth is a far more difficult monster for them all to face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Artwork: A Seed in Barren Lands](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041789) by [LokiOfSassgaard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokiOfSassgaard/pseuds/LokiOfSassgaard). 



> Written for [](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=marvel_bang)[](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=marvel_bang)**marvel_bang** 2013\. The story was written before Thor:TDW, so yeah, definitely AU.

* * *

_A broken seed in barren lands may sprout if watered in truth._

* * *

"This is a surprise."

Loki's dry voice reached her where she stood at the top of the steps. She flinched, feeling caught. How did he know someone was there? Then compounding her puzzlement, he called, "Come, Lady Sif, don't be shy."

Sif gritted her teeth, reminding herself that she knew he was going to provoke her. But she had to see. "I am not **shy** ," she retorted as soon as she stepped before the transparent barrier.

The cell within was brightly lit, contained a bed, a few small tables, one chair, and little else. It was small, and her first thought was how bored Loki had to be in there. She hardened herself against pity, though. He didn't deserve it.

He was dressed in a loose shirt and trousers as he sat on the ledge against the side wall in front of the bed, with his knees drawn up to rest an arm across. His feet were bare which surprised her oddly, since it had been a very long time since she'd seen him without boots. He'd tied his hair back with a string, as if that was the most he could be bothered to deal with it. He'd fought his hair a long time, since it curled and he'd always hated that. But now the ends at the back of his neck were curling and several tendrils had escaped to frame his narrow face. The bright light fell harshly on him, making his skin look ashen and unwell.

His regard was intent and his greeting smile insincere. His pose and tone were both casual, but she knew him well enough to know they were thin covers over anger lurking beneath the surface. He'd always been such a thinly controlled volcano and she'd enjoyed provoking him to get at the passion beneath.

But for now he was calm, saying, "I had not thought you knew I was here."

"The queen told me."

"She labors under several mistaken impressions," he said. His gaze sought the opposite wall, avoiding hers. "Including that I wish to see you."

"She thinks you can be reclaimed."

He gave an uncaring shrug. "Her opinion is of no import to me."

Sif didn't believe that. He and Frigga had been close, and she still had to matter to him.

But before she could challenge him on it, he unfolded his long legs and sat more upright. "Shall we skip to the end of this dull conversation? If you're here to gloat, get on with it."

That line of attack surprised her. "Why would you think I want to **gloat** over this?"

"I can think of no other reason for you to be here. To enjoy my fall. To reassure yourself of your own **intrinsic superiority**." His tone was silky and cold, lacking the tease that it had held once.

"No, Loki, how lost are you to think such a thing?" she demanded. "I grieved your loss."

"Did you?" he retorted with biting mockery. "Alas there was no one to share in your feelings of such profound sorrow."

"Is that what you think? That no one mourned you?"

His lips made a bitter smile as he rose to his feet and approached the barrier. "I think you were all relieved. The disappointment on the All-father's face when I returned must have been amusing to behold."

She shook her head. "No. That's not how it was. Not with him, and not with me. We were friends, and whatever our disagreement, I never wanted you to die."

"Disagreement? I call it betrayal. We were never **friends** ," he repeated, drawing it out in disdain.

That hurt, but Thor had warned her that Loki's mood was capricious and cruel, and his words which previously had been sheathed in jest were now bare steel, meant to cut.

He snorted. "Is that how you choose to delude yourself? You were Thor's friend, not mine. Never did you take my part over his."

"You remember only those times."

"Because that is all there were. Unless you want to provide a counter-example?" he invited with a gesture. He paused, but she didn't answer. "I thought not."

"I'm not here to play your games."

"No, you're here to find out why," he sneered. "Like all the rest. And like all the rest, you will not listen. You'll go away, secure in your belief that you've made your token effort to salve your conscience. You'll determine there is no saving me, so you need not try."

"Can you be saved, Loki?" she asked. "Is there any point in trying?"

"No," he answered with a smirk. "There, see? You need only ask the right question. So you can go."

He turned away, dismissing her, and it annoyed her. "I take no orders from traitors."

He whirled around, eyes flashing in fury. "Of the two of us, you are the far greater traitor than I."

That was unbelievable. "You tried to kill Thor!"

His lip curled. "If I'd wanted him dead, he would be."

"So what was all that on Midgard with the Destroyer? You were just **playing** at it?" she demanded, now losing her temper at his lies.

He stalked closer to the barrier to glare at her. "You were an oath-breaker and a traitor, disobeying the lawful king. So that was justice."

"You know nothing about justice or honor!" she spat back. "You tried to murder your father and your brother, and millions of Midgardians. How dare you speak of justice?"

He froze as if she'd slapped him, but then his lips lifted in a cold smirk. "I did murder my father, I have no brother, I care nothing for the mortals, and all I know of **justice** I learned from the king."

She frowned. "What madness is this? You murdered your father? The Allfather is not-"

"Is not my father, you uninformed fool. Did they not tell you? Still too ashamed of my blood, I see. Do you want to know? Do you want to see a truth to freeze your blood?" he taunted. "I'll show you." He set his right hand on the barrier.

She stared, thinking surely this was illusion, as the skin of his hand paled and then turned blue-gray, flowing up his arm and his neck and over his face until a Frost Giant stood there.

She stumbled back, shaking her head as she stared at him.

Red eyes stared back, seeming seared in fire, before he choked out a bitter laugh. "As I thought."

"No, it isn't true…" she whispered in confusion. "This is one of your tricks, illusions…"

He trailed black fingernails like claws across the barrier, smirking viciously, "Sorry to inform you that you took a creature to your bed. I would've told you, except I knew nothing of it either." His normal appearance snapped back over his features as if it had never been different. "So now you understand why. I never belonged here, I never will. Any appeal to my 'better nature' will fail, because I have none."

"That is... not true," she objected in a faint voice, stunned by this. He was a Frost Giant? But… but she remembered him, when they'd been children. She'd known him forever. He hadn't been a Frost Giant; he hadn't been one of that despised race. How was this even possible?

The answer had to be: it wasn't. This was one of his games, some kind of trick he was playing on her, for his own amusement. Though he didn't seem to be amused.

His face was stony as he turned his back on her and strode to the small table. "Disbelieve if you wish. It matters not at all." He shrugged, calm again, as he poured himself a drink from the carafe.

If he'd tried to make it for a trick, surely he would make it look more like a Frost Giant? Because now that the first shock was fading, she realized his height had not changed, and his face had been nearly the same except the color, with only slight ridges in place of the sharper bone structure of the Jotunn. So perhaps this was… real.

"But how? How can it be true?" she demanded in confusion. "You are--"

"Nothing," he interrupted. "Not their son. Not his brother. Not Aesir. A foundling they dressed up in Asgardian clothes to laugh as it danced. Scorned for not following the steps as a proper Aesir prince, yet never informed what I was, lest one of the dirty monsters get out of hand. But," he held out his other hand, palm up with a sphere of golden fire forming above it and he watched it, voice softening, "I found power in spite of them. And nothing else matters now."

She wished she had never learned any of this. How could this be? Was he so utterly mad that he believed this was true? Or was it true, impossible though that seemed? Still, his last words caught her attention. "Nothing else?"

His hand closed to a fist, extinguishing the magical flame, and his smirk widened over the rim of his cup. He let his eyes slide down her form and back up with deliberate provoking intent. "Unless you want to offer something else of value."

She stiffened. "Such obvious slurs are beneath you."

"You were beneath me," he returned, eyes glinting.

She grimaced at giving him such an easy retort. "Not as often as you were beneath me," she retorted. "You liked that best."

"Oh, I did. I enjoy remembering it, even now," he taunted. "Beautiful, perfect Sif bedding one of the-- what did you call them? Oh yes, **frost animals**. Tell me, how was it, fucking the frost animal?"

Her insides tightened up and her lips clamped together, feeling ill at the suggestion, while he watched with a smug smirk. "You are the most infuriating, perverse, vile--" she started, but then what he was truly saying penetrated and she stopped. She frowned, perplexed when the target of his words was not her, but himself. "Why are you saying this?"

He tilted his head to regard her, long fingers of his free hand plucking restlessly at his shirt hem, and there was no part of his grin that touched his eyes. "Your reaction amuses me."

"But-- you--" she started in confusion. Why would he want to provoke disgust, when it was turned against him? Then her eyes widened. "You want me to hate you."

"No, I want you to stop pretending you don't!" He hurled the cup at the barrier, calm mask slipping for incandescent rage. "You always have, I knew it, I felt it. You were lowering yourself, giving a favor, to be with me. Your eyes always set on brighter lights of Thor, his name on your tongue, while you dallied with me in the cupboards. So now you know what you were actually lowering yourself to. And I hope it haunts your nightmares and you choke on it!"

She recoiled from the vicious snarl, as he turned away to stalk to the far wall of his cell. He folded his arms, standing rigid, but still shaking with his fury.

Sif felt unbalanced, as if she was in battle but her enemies had spontaneously melted away. She'd been ready to fight him, but there was more here than she'd thought -- truths and hurts dormant for so long, suddenly brought to light -- and she didn't know what to say.

Finally, she decided to stick to the simple truth. She was no lie-smith, like he was, no storyteller, so she would state the truth. "You're wrong." She had to lick her dry lips, sorting through everything he'd said. "About all of it, but especially… I kept you and I a secret because … They said cruel things about me without adding a reputation that I was one of the Odinson's whores."

He didn't look at her, but his voice was calm again. "You mean, mine. You would never have minded the other one."

"No, I mean Thor, too. But I … I've never felt like that, for him. You would know that if you spent less time being jealous and more time looking," she told him sharply. "I love him as a friend. Nothing more."

He snorted, skeptical of the assertion, and it made her angry.

"We were more, you and I!" She glared at his back, wishing she had laser vision to carve holes in it with her eyes. "But you spoiled it with your demands-"

He turned a narrowed-eyed glare at her over his shoulder. "Because ancestors forbid I should want anything other than furtive coupling in dark corners. Or that I should want to stop the pretense we were nothing to each other." He paused, regret flickering across his face before he turned to face the far wall again, adding coolly, "But I see now my mistake was always wanting more than others were willing to dole out. I should have been **grateful** for my little spoonful of tolerance and accepted my share would never be the shower of praise and affection given to others."

"You see only the worst!" she returned. This wasn't the first time his jealousy had shown up in all its spiteful glory, and it was always tiring.

He turned in a whirl that would have flared his cape if he were wearing one. "Do I?" he challenged, taking deliberate steps back to the edge of the cell to stare into her eyes. "Name me the most recent time there was a feast in my honor alone."

She glared back at him. He would not sit here, drowning in mis-remembered insults and grudges, when she could triumphantly present him the truth. She opened her mouth to crow the answer, but nothing came out when she realized she couldn't think of one. But there was one, there had to be. There had been plenty of battles where Loki had turned the tide. Surely…

"Do you know why you cannot remember one?" he asked, his voice at first deceptively mild and growing progressively more ragged. "Because there never was one. Not for me alone. Odin could never laud one of the frost beasts, could he? No matter what I did. I killed a **dragon** alone and do you recall what I received for that? Not a feast of celebration, no. I had 'spoiled the battle', as if destroying a menace was some sort of **game**. A fearsome beast killed five of our people, two of them children, yet when I killed it, I was a villain, shamed that I had dared use magic."

She remembered staring at Loki in shock and horror as the dragon died. For he hadn't merely killed it, he had ripped it apart as if the giant beast had been no more than a paper model. She answered quietly, "You don't know what it looked like. What you looked like when you did that. It was frightening."

He snapped out a hand in a dismissive gesture, disbelieving her. "You fear nothing."

That was flattering, but wrong. "I feared you that day. You slaughtered it, with powers I did not know you possessed and a dark glee that was terrifying to behold. You were a different person. Perhaps we … we handled it poorly," she admitted, "but it seemed to damage you, Loki. That was why no one wanted you to do it again."

He hesitated, turned it over in his mind, and then utterly dismissed it, turning away. "That is all I have ever been: something to hide and suppress, except when my ability and lore was convenient… It astonishes me I did not give up on all of you sooner."

That hurt more than anything else he'd said. Because now it was all too clear that this was not a sudden madness. The threads that bound his heart had begun fraying long ago, and recent events had burnt them through and let him fall.

As much as a part of her wanted to say 'good riddance' and not care, her grief at his loss had been real. Regrets had grown thick behind her eyes, wishing everything had happened differently. Learning he was alive after all had given her a brief hope they might get a second chance. But then he'd proven that her every fear of his darker nature was true, turning to conquest and death on Midgard.

But now she saw what it truly was. Thor was wrong to believe Loki's mind had broken by his fall from the Bifrost. The madness was despair - he'd turned from his family, from love, from goodness itself, because he believed they'd turned from him first. She knew his family still loved him, but his anger was not unfounded either. Thor and his parents seemed not to understand the cumulative effect of what they'd done -- perhaps Loki had not told them as much as he'd told her, or perhaps they had not listened, already sure where the fault lay. But she saw with different eyes and she heard his words, and the greater fault lay in how much he loathed what he was.

He would not - could not - reconsider his actions in this cell, nor would he spontaneously recover and repent what he'd done. He would harden in here, his hate would sharpen until it cut open the walls of this prison, and he would forget that love ever existed.

That was wrong. Because while her stomach might twist at the thought of blue skin, her heart still remembered stolen kisses and hands on her skin in heated embraces. Because he had loved once.

He had loved her, and she had loved him but been too afraid of what it would mean to give in to it. Too afraid that it had meant she was weak. She was a warrior, and a warrior could not love a **sorceror** , because magic was used to cover weakness and cowardice, to defeat enemies from afar.

He had loved her, and she had thrown it away, as she had thrown away his flowers, given in apology for his later spiteful trick with her hair.

She owed him a chance, at the very least. The queen was right -- he was not yet lost, and Sif would help find him again.

She held her breath, wondering if she had the strength to do this, if she even wanted to. Give her an enemy to fight, and she would. But this was not an enemy she could slay with a sword. Then again, what was the use of being a warrior if she saw a way to end a threat and did not take it?

Was she not strong? She could do this.

Swallowing hard, she opened the baldric's buckle to let her sword and its sheath ease to the floor. "Loki."

He ignored her.

"I know neither of us can go back, but if I could, there are many things I would do differently. I was young and prideful, and I treated your heart carelessly. For that I apologize."

He said nothing and did not perceptibly react to her words. But he was listening, she knew.

"But please, don't give up on us. On me."

Finally he turned, frowning in irritation. "If you think empty words--"

As soon as he was looking at her, she stepped through the barrier, enjoying the reaction as his eyes widened in utter shock as she passed through. The barrier was one way. Anything could pass inside, but nothing could leave without the All-father's dispensation.

She was trapped within, until Odin All-father came to free her. It was either the smartest or the stupidest thing she had ever done.

Loki took a step back from her as if her insanity was a disease he could catch. "What - what are you doing? What is this meant to accomplish? Why are you such a fool?" he demanded, anger rising to cover his confusion.

"I do not fear you," she declared. When he stiffened, she softened her voice to something less than a gauntlet thrown down in challenge. She meant to reassure, not provoke. "I do not fear your Jotunn blood. I do not fear your sorcery."

His gaze flickered at her words, uncertainty and anger still fighting for dominance. Anger won, as she knew it would, and he stalked forward in measured paces, a gryphon in the tall grass.

"You should," he snarled, trying to tower over her. Trying to make her afraid.

"Should I?" she returned, without flinching a hair. "Why?"

"I tried to kill Thor. What makes you think I will not kill you?" he hissed, leaning closer.

Her heart beat faster in her chest, his challenge sparking a fire in her veins. "Because I entered this cell to help you, and you know if you do anything to me, your only chance of salvation goes with me."

"As if I want salvation," he sneered at her.

"Of course you do. Or you would not be so bitterly angry that you believe it's out of reach."

Glaring into her eyes, he bit off each word, "It does not exist."

She lifted her hand and laid it on his chest. He jerked back as if he expected a blow, and for a moment, his expression was full of confusion that she was touching him softly. He settled on suspicion, narrowing his eyes at her. "What are you doing?"

"Touching you."

"Don't." He twisted out from under her hand and took another step back. His hands clenched to fists, opening and closing, but he did not try to strike her. Which was unfortunate, since she thought a physical fight might help take the edge off his rage, but he was trying to stay in control. He warned, "Don't toy with me. I am short-tempered of late, and even my good intentions fall to ruin. You should not be here."

At least he was not so far gone he truly wanted to hurt her. "I do not toy with you, Loki, I promise."

"What do you want of me?" he demanded, frustration edging his tone. "To punish me for my sins? Is that why you trapped yourself in here with me?"

"Punishment will not teach you anything but greater loathing. I know as much. You will curdle in this place, bereft of all but your own thoughts and hate. But I will change it." She took two steps nearer to him, backing him against the foot board of the bed. "You did not expect my visit, and I make you remember how things used to be. Before you gave up, not on us, but on yourself." He stirred as if he wanted to object, but she overrode him, not letting him speak. "You let go on the Bifrost, Thor said. You sought death. And then you flung yourself at an impossible conquest of Midgard, and you cannot tell me you did so without awareness of likely defeat."

He drew himself up proudly, but she slapped a hand over his mouth before he could speak. "You could not have won," she insisted, digging her fingers into his cheeks to hold his jaw, so he had to meet her eyes. "I know it, and I was not there. You must have known it as well. Perhaps you could have held the city for a time, but the mortals have great numbers and they do not fear death to save their children and their kind. Either you underestimated them so greatly, which I find hard to credit in you, or you knew from the start that ultimate victory would never be yours."

He gripped her wrists in his hands, tightly enough to hurt, and yanked her hand from his face. "I cared nothing for **ultimate victory** ," he snarled. "I wanted to watch it burn-- to hurt the mortals that Odin and Thor hold so precious." He jerked her closer, body to body, and bent his head to murmur in her ear, "Is that what you wanted to hear? That I wanted them to suffer? That is the monster you have locked yourself with."

He expected her to recoil, to turn from him in horror. Maybe if she hadn't already expected as much, she would have, but she was looking for a different confirmation. He'd had no greater plan than attack Midgard and avenge himself on those he thought his family valued more. He hadn't planned for 'after', because he hadn't expected to have one.

She wrapped a leg around the back of his and dumped him on his back on the bed. As he landed, she leaped atop him, knees straddling his waist, and after he blinked the shock out of his eyes, he stilled as she wrapped a hand around his throat.

She stared down into his eyes. "Hear me. I will kill you right here. I will take you out of the misery you have made of your own life and others'. If you want so much to end it, then I will. Your parents will grieve, your brother will grieve again--" He stiffened, eyes flaring in outrage, but her hand tightened to silence his objection. "They are your **family** , you sniveling worm. They took you, when they had no need to. Yes, they were imperfect, I know, but still, they accepted you. Still, they raised you as their own. Still, they love you, despite your temper and all your other faults. But I will cause them grief, if you give me the word.

"Or do you want to live? Do you want to remember that you're a prince? Do you want to repent of all the wrongs you have done, forgive the wrongs done to you, and live? Because I swear to all the ancestors, those are your only choices. Live or die. I will not let you rot in this place and become a true monster of hate and death. Choose now."

His lips parted and his chest lifted on a ragged breath, and his eyes flicked restlessly from meeting hers and away again, conflicted, but then his expression smoothed and he closed his eyes. His hands slipped from her arms to fall to the surface of the bed, as his body relaxed in surrender beneath her. He lifted his chin to bare the long line of his throat. "Do it."

It was a bluff. But no, if he were to lie, would he not lie about his willingness to forgive? He could not believe she was bluffing; it was not her way, and they were no longer so close that nostalgia would stay her hand. It had to be true; it was too terrible not to be true. She closed her own eyes, overwhelmed as the distance between them closed with a rush of feeling, and her fingers loosened their grip. "Have you nothing to live for?" she whispered. "Do you truly believe that?"

He kept his eyes closed, awaiting her promised end, and his voice was a barely whispered confession, "I am a monster, spawn of a monster, and there is no place for me. End it."

Her fingers caressed the soft skin on the side of his neck. "You fool," she chided. "So blinded by your own despair, you see nothing true."

She leaned down and brushed her lips against his. His reaction made her smile, as his eyes popped open and he stared at her incredulous. "What - what are - But I -" he stammered, the lack of his usual wit amusing her. "I told you - I showed you-"

"Think you I care about the blood in your veins?"

"You hate it. It is the blood of our enemies," he insisted, as if she had somehow missed that. He triggered the change in his appearance again, his flesh turning blue and his eyes a brilliant scarlet. He watched her closely, awaiting her revulsion.

But she was ready this time and did not flinch. This close, it looked less strange - he'd always been pale anyway, and the red irises of his eyes were not all one ruby tone, but lightened to a pretty amber at the edges. "It was surprising at first - as you intended with such a display - but I do not hate it. Or you. You're still you."

Because she could feel his resistance in his body beneath her and see the doubt in his face, she returned her lips to his, to prove him wrong.

He went still in disbelief, as if her mouth on his in this form had been utterly unthinkable, and that made her press into him, urging his lips to open, touching them with her tongue.

She had expected his skin to feel different, but it didn't - not his lips, nor his face when she held it between her hands when he tried to turn his head away. She pulled back enough to look into his eyes. "Stop trying to save me from you," she told him and caressed his forehead and cheeks with her fingertips, across the markings and the soft skin. The difference grew less the more she touched, even if he was still tense as if expecting her to recoil. "If I am strong enough to want you, you can be strong enough to let me."

Those scarlet eyes seemed to show his anguish more clearly, as if he desperately wanted to believe her but feared it was another glittering promise held before him, to be cruelly stolen away. He could barely whisper her name, begging her to be true as if he could not endure another betrayal, "Sif…"

Now that she was here, and she could see the truth that lay at his heart, she knew she had chosen rightly. "There's nothing about you I hate. And if I have to drag you to salvation, I will."

She kissed him again, sealing her promise against his lips. His groan when he gave in seemed torn from his soul, relief and pain and confusion all mixed together, and his hands clasped her back and shoulders.

His mouth seized hers thirstily, like he was finding water after eons in the desert, as his fingers pushed into her hair to hold her to him. But she had no intention of moving away, not soon. Maybe not ever.

The return of something that had been gone for … centuries… for too long hit her with the impact of fire along her nerves, digging deep into inside. She clawed at his shirt, getting her hands underneath to his taut skin. He felt so good, and she wanted all of it. She shoved at the shirt, as he got tangled in it. Impatiently, he sat up and she yanked it off over his head.

His gaze went over her shoulder, and he stilled at something he saw. His hand lifted from her skin to gesture sharply. A black smoke spread across the surface of the barriers to block the view of the corridor outside. She lifted her brows in surprise that he had power enough to create his own privacy in here, but she was relieved, too. They certainly needed no audience. "Thank you," she murmured and turned back to see what was now only for her eyes.

His torso was blue, too, with darker markings like narrow tattoos in parallel lines on either side, curling along his ribs and circling in to his dark indigo nipples, from there rising to his collarbones and the sides of his neck. It was like, yet unlike, the harder, sharper ridges of the Jotunn - and she found herself wondering if he was wholly of their blood or perhaps he was more mixed than he believed. But her pause to look was making him start to withdraw, self-conscious of the direction of her gaze, so she nudged forward on his lap and slipped her hands around to his back. Her mouth found his again, her tongue against his, to show that none of this was revolting.

His fingers felt cool on her thighs and her hips, as he found the hem of her tunic, lifting it higher until the tips of his fingers eased beneath the band of her bodice to touch the lower curve of her breasts. She shivered, tilting her head back in an invitation he accepted, lips trailing kissing beneath her ear and the hollow of her throat, while his fingers pushed upward to touch her hardening nipples.

He'd always had such agile fingers, cupping the fullness in his palm while stirring the feeling deeper with careful pinching and rubbing, until he stripped off her tunic and bodice with a magical ease. She knew what came next and found she was holding her breath in anticipation, as his mouth made a heated path between her now bare breasts. She sat up higher on her knees to give him easier access and his mouth seized the tip. She couldn't help the soft moan she let out at the touch of his tongue, and she pulling his hair free of the tie to feel it in her hands, while she squirmed her hips across his thighs.

The thin fabric of her leggings and his breeches was both too much, barring her from feeling his skin where she needed his heat, but also too little, feeling the shape of him as he swelled against her.

His free hand slipped down her waist to the narrow space between them, and between her legs. He caressed her over the fabric, fingers finding their way beneath and between her folds. She shuddered, as he opened her to his touch, pushing inside in maddening little thrusts and forward across her nub until she seized up with need and gasped his name.

She shoved him onto his back, determined this would not be all him doing. It turned out that sliding her tongue across the new markings on his skin made him shiver, and he arched his back and called her name when she bit his dark nipple. He had one hand fisted in his pillow and his throat worked, as she worked her way down the lines that crossed the flexing ridges of his stomach as her other hand groped him through the soft fabric of his breeches. His body might be slender but there was nothing inadequate in the swelling under her hand.

Opening the laces slowly drew a protesting groan from him. "Sif. Please."

"Patience," she chided. But she didn't have any either; she was burning for him and she couldn't wait very long either.

But right before she was about to open the flap, the skin beneath her hand turned pink again so abruptly she drew back, startled. Her withdrawal pulled a wordless whine from him of pure frustration.

She crawled up his body until her face was above his. "We're not finishing until you put it back."

His eyes opened to meet hers, frowning as if he didn't understand why she was objecting. "Sif, you proved your point. There's no need to do something you find distasteful. I would never ask you--"

"Put it back," she insisted. "It doesn't disgust me, and I think we've found there is one very useful aspect to it. Maybe we'll find another." She smirked down at him, leaning on one hand to free the other, and traced with one finger along the path of the line she could no longer see. But she knew where it had been at the outer edge of his abdominals to curve inward in the hollow of his hip and disappear beneath his low breeches.

He shuddered as if he still felt it, and she whispered, coaxing, "I want to see, Loki. Show me."

His eyes shut again, in resignation, and the pink faded first to grey and turned more bluish. She watched, noticing that he felt cooler to her touch, though nothing close to the deadly icy touch that Frost Giants could produce.

To her amusement, when she opened the flaps to free him from their confines, she saw that he'd lifted his head to watch as well. Their eyes met. "I … never… looked," he admitted uneasily.

She turned her eyes back down his body and licked her lips. "I think… you have nothing to be ashamed of."

It was suddenly intensely sexual to her, more than ever before, seeing his erection boldly blue, but with the dark lines converging on it and circling his shaft, leaving one stripe on the underside. And she knew she was going to have to trace it with her tongue and make him squirm.

Her intent was soon plain to him, as she pushed his legs apart to go lower, as her mouth enjoyed the soft plain of his lower belly, knowing the fall of her hair was teasing him.

"Sif, you -" he groaned and put a hand on her head as if to push her lower or pull her away, before he forced his fingers to let go, "- oh ancestors, but Sif, you need not do this -"

That had nothing to do with his new skin; he'd always told her she didn't need to put her mouth on him. The first time she'd tried it, Loki had recoiled as if she'd tried to bite him. She'd laughed, amazed it had been the first time someone had offered it to him, when he had become quite the expert putting his mouth on her. He'd enjoyed her attentions, once she persuaded him she meant it.

She lifted her head long enough to remind him, "I know. I know what I want."

The reaction to her tongue stroking along that path was even better than she'd expected. His hips jerked and he let out a sharp hiss that became her name as a guttural moan. His heels dug into the cot, and his fists gathered the sheet to keep himself from thrusting.

She teased him until he was quivering and she could feel him tightening, on the edge of climax but she wanted to finish with him inside. She let go to pull her underbrief down her thighs, while he watched her with glinting fiery eyes and parted lips. Then she mounted him, easing down until she felt full and stretched, and they were locked together. They were both panting with the need to move.

"You are glorious," he whispered, his gaze drinking in the sight above him. His hands slid up her thighs, up to her breasts, and back to clasp her hips and help hold her steady as she moved.

The feel of him was like everything she had forgotten hitting her all at once, deep within, coals flaring, fire building each time they came together.

He had little leverage but enough strength to thrust hard and change the angle enough she gasped, reached out blindly for something to hold her up, as her vision went white. It didn't stop, rising up from the pressure deep inside and flaring through her. Shuddering, she came down enough to open her eyes and watch him arch into her, fingers tight on her hips to keep her down hard on him as he rode his own release.

Her chest was still heaving for breath, letting the aftershocks subside, as he caressed everything he could reach as if he hadn't had enough of her skin. His eyes met hers and he smirked lazily, "Was that all right?"

"Acceptable, very acceptable," she teased and stretched her arms upward, enjoying his open appreciation of her movement. "You seemed to enjoy it?"

He shrugged, echoing her tone, "It was fine."

She chuckled and let herself fall forward to stretch out across his chest. He was pleasantly cool to her heated, sweaty skin, and soft beneath her cheek. "If that was 'fine', imagine what 'spectacular' will be like."

He snorted a laugh. "We will probably not survive it."

She let out a long groaning breath of pure relaxation and closed her eyes. She felt so comfortable there, and she murmured, "That was even better than the last time. Why did we wait so long?"

His hand smoothed her hair across her shoulders and back, and when he spoke his voice was drily amused, "I will take that as a rhetorical question, as the answer might ruin the moment."

She nudged him with the pointy end of her chin. "Very droll. But that's why you're the clever one. Most of the time."

"Always," he corrected. "But sometimes people surprise me."

"As I did. Walking in here. The look on your face was one I have not seen in some time." She chuckled, remembering his shock. Loki planned for a lot of things, but clearly that had never crossed his mind as something she would do.

"You were mad to do it."

"Nay. I reasoned it out quite thoroughly."

"Madness always seems reasonable. At the time."

"Speaking from experience?" she was teasing and expected a teasing retort back, but he hesitated.

His voice grew softer, more a rumble under her ear. "It is only afterward that I see -- I was chasing a bright light and never looked down to see the mire beneath my feet, from which I could not escape." He tensed beneath her, a quiver coming to his voice of some deeper emotion emerging.

Her left hand wandered across his shoulder and chest, fingers soothing and distracting him. She murmured, "So perhaps not **always** clever, hm?"

The mild taunt stirred him out of his dark thoughts and he muttered, "Clever enough to end here with you."

"Mmm, there was probably a less convoluted plan to get me to bed you, but I cannot complain of your goal," she said and was only teasing a little. Because it was true. His skin had such a beautiful tone under her fingers, so tautly stretched over his lithe muscles. She lifted her head sharply, realizing the skin under her fingers had returned to his normal appearance. She had no idea when he had done it. "Why did you change it back?" she asked, sliding her hand along his flank.

"I … thought you would prefer--" he started.

Silencing him with a poke as she lifted herself up on an elbow to survey his chest and face, she said, "I find it a little dull now."

His eyes flicked open with shock and he lifted his head to frown at her. "Are you mad?" he asked, eyes narrowing with flashing anger. "Or is this some jest?"

"Neither." She kissed the hollow of his throat in reassurance, and then laid her head back down on his chest. "Or perhaps a little bit mad. I am here, am I not? But Loki, it's not so different. You should not let it burn you inside. 'tis not a fault."

He lowered his head and closed his eyes again, but he was still tense beneath her, not liking the direction of the conversation at all. "It feels much like a fault. Or a curse. It's not… an easy thing."

"Nay, I understand that. And I did not make it easier, I know. When did you learn this?

"When do you think?" he returned sharply. "In that battle on Jotunheim. When everything went wrong."

Astounded, she lifted up to look at his face, thinking that could not possibly be true. "Only then?"

"One of them grabbed my arm to freeze my blood. But it doesn't work on their own kind," he said bitterly. "Everything I thought I knew was undone. And yet finally I understood. There was never anything I could do to be good enough - it was my blood made me a … beast." He said it softly, but there was something in the quiet loathing that made her heart hurt. He wasn't merely saying the word; he believed it was true. He fell silent and his hand on her back lifted away as if he could not bear to touch her.

"No. I do not lie with beasts, nor frost animals, either," she added tartly, knowing what he was thinking. "I was wrong to insult a worthy enemy with those words, and they were never meant for you. But you are also wrong if you believe the king does not care. Do you not remember how he--"

He put his fingers across her lips. "Do not," he advised. "Let us not spoil what remains of our time here."

She wanted to argue and to poke at all his wrong-headed beliefs until they shattered, but he was also right that someone would be investigating the ward eventually and she didn't want to waste their time talking about the king. "Very well. We can talk about each other then. You called me glorious."

His hand returned to her back, smoothing her hair against her shoulders. "I did. Because you are."

She smiled into his skin. "See, now that is a good use for Loki Silvertongue."

"I did not demonstrate the best use this time," he mused, and her smile widened.

"No, you did not. You owe me that." She rose up to find his mouth and when his hands clasped her tightly and he raised his head to deepen the kiss, she pulled back, teasing. "Next time."

For a moment they lay in contemplative silence, while she listened to his heart beat steadily under her ear and his fingers caressed her hair. He broke the silence finally to murmur, "I can change it back."

She gave an impatient sigh. "Loki, you can be either you wish. I merely want you to understand--"

He didn't let her finish, chuckling. "Your hair, I meant." He drew his fingers down the length of her hair.

Once it had been golden as the Midgardian sun, her greatest pride. After she'd told him they were done, in a temper he'd cut it and set a curse to turn it black when it regrew. "So I was right. You could have undone it."

He shook his head. "No. I lacked the skill to untangle the spell then. Not that I would have," he admitted with a flashing grin.

"Being of petty, vindictive nature," she muttered.

"I learned from you," he retorted. "Yet as you undid yours, so I am willing to undo mine." He caressed the length again. "I will miss this though."

She opened her mouth to tell him to change it back but the words didn't come. "Not yet."

His hand fell from her hair as he peered at her in surprise. "I thought for certain you would accept-- nay, **leap** at the offer?"

His surprise was always so amusing. But she needed some words to explain. "For so long I loathed it, and I longed to kill you. It was ugly."

"Black hair, so hideous," he muttered.

She groaned at his willful taking it as an insult. "It was not **mine**. It made me a stranger to myself."

He said nothing but sniffed as if thinking something contemptuous, because of course he knew all about that, too.

"But now it is mine, as this is yours." She drew her hand down his flank and he twitched as if surprised she would turn the discussion back on him. "It is a part of me, Loki. It is now part of the legend, and how can I be Lady Sif of the Ebonlocks if I have golden hair?"

"You would set everyone straight in a fortnight."

"Perhaps. But I find that now you offered, I am uncertain if I want to change it." Her fingers toyed with the end of his hair, wrapping it around a finger in the loose curl it wanted to be. "The color sets us apart."

"Apart is not admired."

She had to admit that was true, especially for him. "I wonder why they changed your skin but not your hair. So many whispers might have been avoided had you been fair-haired like Thor." Because while none had ever arrived at the truth that he was not Aesir, certainly there had been rumors that he was not of the king's blood, which Loki's raven's-wing hair had seemed to prove.

"You must ask the All-father. He has yet to explain **anything** to me," Loki said flatly, and his grip on her shoulders tightened as if he intended to push her off.

Regretful that she had touched this open wound, she wriggled up his body, finding that he was interested in the movement despite himself, and she made certain to rub with a more intent as her thigh pressed lightly between his. "Did I mention I have always liked your hair?" she murmured. "Except when you glue it to your head, but it looks especially appealing like this." She slid both hands into the mass of it to lift his head to kiss him fiercely.

He resisted, still annoyed, but let it go, as his hands caressed her sides to hold her hips. One hand slipped between her thighs, fingers tantalizing and teasing her, until she was pulling at his hair, growling his name an he smirked at her.

"Loki!"

"Say please," he taunted.

She said nothing, refusing to play, except she had to, because his fingers pressed within and it was not quite enough. She squirmed her hips, looking for more, but he knew what she needed and held it back.

"So prideful?" he asked. "You refuse to ask for what you want? But what if it is denied?"

"Bastard," she ground out between her teeth as he pulled his hand away.

"Very likely," he agreed with a tight grin. "Ask, Sif. And I will give it to you."

"You know I will retaliate for this," she threatened, shuddering as his fingers returned for a brief tease.

"Oh, I hope so," he purred, eyes bright and undaunted.

"Fine. Please…" She meant it to come out annoyed, and not at all as if she was giving in, but somehow the word emerged hoarse and needy. That was all he awaited, fingers returning to plunge into her center, twisting and caressing, until she wanted to smack that triumphant smirk off his lips and yet couldn't move a muscle for the pleasure seizing through her body.

Still shuddering her release, she slumped atop him again, panting. "You are terrible. But great."

"I know," he agreed easily and lifted his fingers to his mouth. She couldn't peel her eyes away from the tense lines of his throat as he sucked her taste off his fingers.

"You promised next time it would be your tongue," she complained.

"No, **you** said that. I made no such promise," he retorted, and she had to agree with a sullen frown that was true. "I have to hold something back, or why would you return?"

She nipped at his shoulder, hard enough to make him flinch, before laying her head down. "Because of this?" she murmured, feeling drowsy in the aftermath. "It feels like how it used to be, when we were young."

"It does," he agreed softly. After a little while, he admitted, "I … do not understand why you did this. I have never understood why you would hold me in any regard over Thor. I did not believe it was true when we were together before, and now it is harder still."

She let out a sigh, wondering how she could explain. "Is it not enough that I hold no feelings but friendship for him? We are much alike--"

He snorted. "You are nothing like him."

"We are, and you know it."

"He **wishes** he was like you," Loki muttered, and she smiled against his skin, not displeased by his stubbornness.

"He's a fine partner for drinking and fighting. But he has never once stirred me to such passion as you. I am never angry at him, I am never curious, I am never uncertain - he is what he is. Where you… you confound me frequently."

"You make it sound vaguely unpleasant," he said, but his voice was amused, the previous tone melting away.

"There is nothing unpleasant about this at all," she confirmed, as her hand slid down his bare hip. "But the point is, I like Thor, but I could never imagine myself with him, no matter how much people seemed to expect it of us."

He chuckled. "And you hate doing what people expect."

"As do you. Except you love it when other people do what you expect."

"No, not so," he corrected thoughtfully. "It's satisfying, as if I've written a play that everyone performs for me, but it's also dull. I enjoy it much more when people surprise me. It happens so rarely."

She smiled, recognizing the compliment in that, but given how badly his plan on Midgard had unraveled it couldn't be entirely true. "Not all surprises are good ones, surely?"

His hand hesitated on her hair. "No, not all of them," he agreed, more somber than she had intended to be. "Sometimes people surprise me in quite terrible ways."

"I was not considering anything personal," she murmured in apology. "Of course there was nothing to enjoy in that surprise. Though I hope I demonstrated a pleasant surprise for you regarding it."

He hummed, like a great cat purring, and answered, gratefully seizing on her attempt at light distraction, "Oh yes. Though I think only once could be a coincidence of timing. Another trial should ensure there's a causal link."

She rolled her eyes. "'Causal link?' You were on Midgard too long. But yes, we should do it again."

He hesitated, growing troubled again. "If he allows you."

Lifting herself up, she frowned at him. "Why would he not?"

With his free hand he gestured around, at the blackened energy walls and the other blank walls of his cell. "This is supposed to be my punishment, Sif. I doubt conjugal visits are going to be acceptable. So we should enjoy this moment before it passes."

She grimaced, unhappy that he was probably right. "I will make formal petition if I must. The All-father will agree to make sure I do not utter the words 'conjugal visit' in the middle of court."

He snickered and his arms tightened around her, before his hands moved with more intent along her sides, and he shifted a leg to bend his knee and press a thigh between hers. "In case he refuses to go along with your weak blackmail attempt, I think we should try again…"

"Oh? Is that right?" She was about to kiss him again, when he rolled them over.

He chortled at her surprise, grinning down at her. "Yes, indeed. You mentioned retaliation…"

She was planning to flip them back over, but then his mouth came down on hers and she forgot about anything else except the feel of his lips and hands and body touching hers.

Until he pulled away abruptly, head snapping upright as if he heard or sensed something.

"What is it?" she hissed, tensing, wondering if there might be an attack.

"The ward on the main doors," he explained. "They're taking it down. Someone's coming."


	2. Chapter 2

She realized she was naked and wriggled free of him to grab her clothes, hurrying to put herself back into something resembling respectable. She stomped her feet into her ankle boots and straightened her tunic's hem at the sound of the doors opening. She drew herself up, ready to confront whoever was coming in.

She glanced at Loki to find him still bare to the waist and his breeches up, but not re-laced. It would have been very attractive at any other moment than this, when she could hear boots descending the steps, coming their way. "Do not embarrass me before the All-Father or your brother," she hissed.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "So humiliating, is it?" But despite the sarcastic words, he grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head. She hoped he hurried, as the sound of footsteps came nearer.

The dark melted away from the barrier, revealing that the king had come. One keen eye looked from Sif, standing at the front of the cell with her sword on the floor outside, to Loki sitting on his bed with his back to the wall. He was decently covered, but she felt her cheeks heat, since his hair was a riotous ebony mess, his shirt was untucked and open at the throat, and one of his cuffs had torn. She expected a smirk, but his gaze was fixed on the far wall, and his expression seemed closed and sullen.

"Lady Sif, Loki," Odin greeted.

"All-Father," she said with a bow of her head.

Loki said nothing, and after waiting a moment, Odin addressed her, "You stepped within."

"It was quite foolish of her," Loki said coldly, not looking at either of them. "But she is only a little worse for the experience."

She frowned at him, wondering what his sudden problem was. But maybe he was pretending to coldness, for appearance's sake with Odin.

"Are you well, Sif?" Odin asked her, eyeing her closely.

Only biting her inner lip kept her from lifting a hand to check her hair. The king probably knew what they had been doing in here, but there was no need to confirm it with guilty actions. She answered steadily, "I am well, my king. Loki was… ah, excellent company." She wanted to snicker at her words, barely holding it back.

"I am pleased to hear it." He turned his gaze to Loki and asked, "And you, Loki? Are you well?"

Loki curled a lip at the question and gave a sour chuckle. "As if you care."

"You know that is not true, my son."

Loki flinched as if the quiet words were a blow and struck back, finally looking at the king. "I know speaking empty words makes nothing true, and I know you did precious little my entire life to make it true." His eyes flicked to Sif and back to Odin, giving a humorless little laugh. "It almost worked, All-Father, but now I see your strategy with her. You are doomed to disappointment, as the only secret she pulled from me is the one you've known all along."

That was meant to hurt. Sif turned to him in dismay. "Loki! Why - why are you saying this? I was not interrogating you--"

He straightened, put his feet on the floor, and glowered at her. "You got what you wanted, did you not?" he accused her. "You bravely confronted the monster, entertained yourself, and now you can pretend nothing happened. Just as you always did, except now I'm in a cage, making it that much more humiliating to be seen with me." He turned hateful, glittering eyes back to Odin. "Is this part of my punishment then? You let anyone inside and I cannot resist lest I prove myself worse?"

"What? No," she objected, confused by what he was saying, then horrified. Had he really felt that he couldn't refuse?

"No, it is not," Odin answered. His voice was calm, but when she darted a look at him, he was watching Loki warily, his hand gripping Gungnir.

"Take her from here," Loki demanded. "Take her and go. Never let her come back."

"Loki!"

He ignored her, to look at Odin in rising fury, "I am done with you. With her. With all of you. Do you think I do not see the lies? Me? God of lies surrounded by liars. None of you ever willing to give up a single shred of your precious dignity, while I give up everything. No more."

Loki stood and his clothes abruptly shifted to his black and green fighting leathers, making her realize he could have changed them whenever he liked. His expression twisted, teeth bared and eyes wild, as he warned Odin, breathing heavily, "I will kill the next person to enter this cell, I swear. Her, or Thor, or you or Tyr," he listed in such a venomous tone she reached for her sword reflexively. "I will not stay my hand against all those I hate. You made sure I have nothing else left to me."

She jerked back into the barrier, feeling it hum against her skin, as her heartbeat seemed to grow louder in her ears in reaction to his unexpected attack. He hated her? How could that be, after all he'd said before?

She stared at him. Madness. This had to be madness. None of it made sense. Tyr? That had been so long ago, when Tyr had been their weapons instructor. Loki's wolf had bitten off Tyr's hand, and she remembered Loki had been very upset when Fenrir had been put down. But Loki had ignored Tyr since.

"Tyr?" she asked in confusion. "You resent him for Fenrir's death? After all this time?"

"Take your ignorance and get out," Loki spat back at her but without turning his burning gaze from Odin.

Odin frowned at Loki in concern and shook his head once. "This has never been more than misunderstandings in training, and a penchant for complaint and resentment, grown all out of proportion and twisted over time."

As Loki listened, a mocking smile curled his lips. "A 'penchant for complaint,'" he repeated in a silky tone. "Yes, how dare the little frost giant foundling bother you with his tiresome complaints? Great Tyr was teaching him to be an Aesir. But a monkey in Asgardian clothes will never be aught but a monkey, will he?"

Odin hesitated and frowned at him sadly. "No, Loki, that was never how I thought of you. Not being Aesir you were slower to grow into your strength, but it was your attitude, not your blood, that was the problem. You would not have trained at all without being pushed to it."

Loki barked a humorless laugh. "Do you lie to yourself most of all? Or just to me? Had Thor come to you with those same words, you would have done something. Even against Tyr, who could do no wrong against me."

"He was teaching you--"

"Teaching me I only mattered when it was convenient!" Loki spat back at him. "Teaching me that even when I hurt, no one would lift a hand to stop him."

Sif, who had been listening with a growing unease, heard the last and felt suddenly chilled. Hurt? She'd been jealous he'd had private lessons with Tyr, even though he'd needed them so much more than she had. It had never occurred to her that he might have been hurt during them. But he was implying that Tyr had hurt him on purpose which was… unfathomable. She'd dismiss it as another lie except she remembered Thor's complaints that Loki was going off alone, to bury himself in the archives or running with Fenrir. "What happened?"

Odin answered her, "Nothing unusual. Tyr over-estimated Loki's strength to block and struck him too hard. But he explained his mistake. And the rest were--"

"It was not a mistake. It was never a **mistake** ," Loki hissed at him. "He only got better at leaving nothing to prove what he'd done."

Odin thundered, finally losing his temper at Loki's accusations, "Silence! You will not spread your poisonous lies about an honorable warrior!"

Those were exactly the wrong words. Loki's eyes lit with rage.

"Honor?" Loki was at the barrier in an instant, fingertips pressing into it and making it flare with golden fire. "And you wonder why I know you care nothing for me? Always, always you defend him, and never me."

"He could never--" Odin protested.

Loki let out an ugly laugh, silencing the king. "No? He never forced me to kneel before him, his hand pulling my hair while he fucked my mouth?" Loki hurled the words at him, sharper than knives. Sif recoiled, gasping, staring at Loki in horror.

The vicious torrent continued, merciless in his rage. "Because he did. Every day as part of my lessons for months. First he beat me, and he broke my arm in three places, but when you refused to intervene, when you told me I should **toughen up** and take it, he knew he could do whatever he wanted. He could hurt me, he could make me touch him and put his prick down my throat, and no one would care. Because he knew. He called me a creature, fit only for serving his betters. I thought he must be right, that there was something wrong with me, for why else would he do that?" His voice cracked, harsh calm deserting him to reveal the anguish beneath.

Odin stumbled back a pace, his face drawn and lips parted in wordless shock. "No… This is… This is a lie," he whispered.

But even in her shock, Sif had no doubt it was true. The truth - the pain - was too real, like cracks appearing in a vase she'd always believed whole, yet she knew now the lie had been its wholeness, not the picture on it. But how could Tyr have ever done something so reprehensible? She eyed her sword on the floor, fingers tightening in a desire to hold the hilt as she drove it straight in his heart.

"You still refuse to see!" His expression ravaged, Loki smashed both hands into the barrier, causing it to flare golden and bright. "Let me put a hand on Gungnir. And I will show it all to you."

There was a frozen moment of silence, with no one able to speak. Sif doubted they remembered she stood there. The king looked ill and wan, leaning heavily on Gungnir with both hands, as it settled on him that what he had denied and ignored all these years was, in fact, true. He had failed his child in the most fundamental way possible, allowing him to be tormented and brutalized, never believing his complaints.

Yet the failure did not end there, Sif realized. For instead of punishing the vile monster who had done such things, he had punished Loki for the only vengeance Loki had achieved in Fenrir's attack. Loki had cried and pleaded clemency for Fenrir, earning himself a punishment for defending a wolf instead of his teacher.

She looked at Odin, and the crystal of her faith in his wisdom and omniscience exploded to shards. He was just a tired old man, shaken to the foundation by this revelation of something he should have known and fixed centuries ago.

But Loki saw none of it as his rage evaporated. His shoulders slumped with abrupt exhaustion, and he muttered to himself, "No. It changes nothing, does it? Proves nothing. You will never believe me." His hands fell from the barrier, to hang limply at his sides as his clothes shimmered and became the simple tunic and breeches again. "Just another lie you will ignore. Return to your real son, and leave me be."

He turned away from the barrier, eyes dull as they slid across her as if she weren't there. He sought the cot and pulled up his bare feet, tucking into a small, defeated ball. She had never seen him in such an extremity of loss that not only was his clever tongue silenced, but his entire spirit quenched.

Her heart hurt, each beat aching within her chest, and catching her breath. "Loki…" He didn't move or seem to hear her.

No wonder he had been so hurt by her insistence on keeping their relationship a secret. Bad enough she had treated being together as something shameful, but it must also have reminded him of what Tyr had done.

She knelt on the floor before him, hoping he saw it as a gesture of her sympathy and respect. "Loki. No. I will not ignore this. I … I am horrified by this revelation. I … cannot --"

"--cannot believe it?" he finished for her, bitterly.

"No, I cannot imagine how much you suffered," she corrected. "I believe you."

He lifted his head enough to see her face, his hair hanging in his eyes, and he asked with a painful doubt, "You believe me?"

"I do," she confirmed. "I saw something change in you; I know Thor saw it, too, but we… we had no notion of anything like this."

"I did not intend to speak of it," he murmured, head drooping again as his fingers wiped and tugged his clothes restlessly. "You should not have heard such… filth. I… " He hesitated and swallowed hard, then tried to grin, a sickly baring of teeth that did nothing to mask the broken devastation in his eyes. "You should know better than believe what I say. It was a lie. A poor jest… I was …" He couldn't even finish the attempted pretense, voice trailing off. "You need to forget you heard anything," he requested finally, barely audible.

The shame in his face was the worst thing she had ever seen, and she wanted desperately to rub it out and then stab Tyr repeatedly. "No, Loki, stop. I will not forget," she told him. "I am glad to know. Well, not 'glad' because how can one be glad to learn of such things? But I would rather know the truth, and not let it fester amid lies and silence." She put her hands gingerly on his knees, fearful he would pull away, but when he didn't, she rested her head, rubbing her cheek against his legs to keep back the tears that were a threatening heat in her eyes. "I am so sorry. I … I should have been there for you."

His hand touched her head. "It was no fault of yours. Sif, please."

"But I made you hide when we were together," she whispered. "More secrets, more lies. And again, just now." It had been her attempt to hide their relationship again that had roused the old memory of someone else making him feel wrong and used. "But no more, Loki. I understand now," she declared, rising up to sit close beside him on the cot. He shied back when she reached out for his face, but after a moment, he let her lay her hand on his cheek to encourage him to look into her eyes. "I am not ashamed of being with you," she reassured him. "Not before I knew this. And not now."

She knew Odin could see, but found she did not care, as she pressed a kiss to Loki's lips. He didn't return it, too stunned yet by the violence of his emotions and shaken by old memories. After they parted, he let his head rest on her shoulder. He was trembling as she circled his body in her arms and embraced him tightly. He felt fragile under her hands, all slender bones, like the boy he had been before one of their own had stolen his innocence. "I … thought," he whispered. "I thought…"

"I know what you thought, but this is not then. I am not that Sif, who was afraid that loving made her weak. Or the Sif who refused to see that the bright lights of our Realm hide terrible shadows. I know better now. And now we face what is to come together," she promised. "We shall find a way, Loki. You may have all my strength to mend what was broken, and we will find salvation if we must fight all who would deny it."

He shook his head against her shoulder in stubborn, hopeless denial. Her hand caressed his hair, combing her fingers through the tangled strands. "We will, Loki. Believe in me, if you will not believe in yourself."

A strange noise - actually the lack of one drew her attention, as the soft hum of the barrier died away to silence. She turned her head to see Odin enter the cell. He moved slowly, leaning on Gungnir.

"Loki."

Against her, Loki twitched at Odin's voice but stayed where he was, and she kept on smoothing his hair.

"My king," she said, clearing her throat, "I would request to stay here, not leave so soon…"

He shook his head once, raising his hand in a quelling gesture that he had not come inside to take her away. He stayed there, watching them both, and his expression was graven in deep sorrow.

"Did you offer truly?" Odin asked. "If you wish to hold Gungnir and show me all that happened, I will give you the opportunity. Be aware you cannot pick and choose what you show-- your mind and mine will be entwined, and no falsehoods and no secrets will endure in such a joining. But I offer in the hope that not only you show me the truth of what you endured, but also so you may see the truth of my thoughts and feelings for you, Loki."

In a motion that surprised her, Odin went to one knee and held Gungnir across one leg stretching the length of the bed and shining like brilliant silver.

Loki lifted his head a little and asked, without looking at Odin, "And when you see the truth, what will you do?"

"I will require him to do the same," Odin promised. "And when I see the truth of him, I will determine his sentence. I will not stay my hand, Loki, this I swear to you. He is no friend, no companion, of mine or of Asgard, if he would prey upon any child in this way, and not my son. Please, Loki," he murmured, "I can do nothing without more than your word. I believe you, I do, but I need to be absolutely certain and I think you need me to know and to share it with you."

Loki hesitated and Sif wrapped his hand in hers and squeezed. "I think you should," she urged. "I will be here. Go ahead."

He glanced toward the open side of the cell and his jaw clenched as he considered, then his eyes met hers and she smiled encouragingly.

Inhaling a deep breath, he reached his free hand, trembling. Odin raised the spear higher, toward him, so Loki could wrap his fingers around the haft.

Odin's other hand gripped it, bracketing Loki's hand with both of his, and the entire spear blazed with power, shining so brightly it threw their shadows in stark contrast against the walls.

Both stiffened, and the same shining power shone from their eyes, so bright it was hard to look at. She held Loki's hand, letting him squeeze it painfully tight, trying to remind him she was there.

Odin let out a distressed moan, and tears rolled down his cheek from his eye.

The power faded from Gungnir, returning the cell to the normal overhead lights, and Loki gasped for breath as if he'd been underwater those minutes. His hand dropped away from the spear and he slumped backward in utter exhaustion.

She caught him against her, letting his head rest against her breasts. His eyes were so bright, so full to overflowing with the truth of what he'd seen in his father's mind, as he looked up at her. It was as if he was drowning in it. "Sif…" he murmured, seizing her wrists as if that would help him find words. "Sif…"

"Hush." She smoothed back his hair from his face. "Take a moment, Loki."

On the floor, Odin's head was bowed over Gungnir, as he too sorted through what he'd seen.

"What will you do, Allfather?" Sif asked. "Now that you know it's true?"

"True and worse," he said hoarsely. "I … was so very wrong."

For a moment, she feared he would collapse. He leaned heavily on the spear, now grounded into the floor, and swayed into it, as though the truth had been a burden too heavy to bear for him. She felt pity for him only exactly as long as it took her to remember that Loki had been carrying it alone all this time.

But the king found his strength and straightened, still kneeling, to put him more at eye-level with Loki, if Loki were looking in his direction. "There will be a reckoning and sentence, I swear," he told Loki. "He shall not escape, now that I know."

Sif asked, "How is it no one knew? Why did you not accuse him? I understand why you would not tell the All-Father, but the queen? You know she would do anything for you, Loki. She would have stopped it."

Loki could only shake his head. Sif looked to Odin, who must have known the answer, but he waited, watching Loki patiently. Loki pushed himself upright and he hitched aside, to sit away from her. He bent his knees and stared at them blankly. Sif thought he was ignoring the question or had forgotten it, but when she opened her mouth, Odin lifted a hand to encourage her patience. Eventually, Loki's throat worked and he pressed his lips together before finding his voice, so painfully hesitant, "How could I tell her? That I was this … shameful, base creature? She would reject me, and I would have… no one..."

"No, no," Sif protested, shaking her head in denial and confusion that he could have ever believed that. "She would never--"

"Of course she would not," Odin agreed. "Frigga loves you, Loki, and learning this will break her heart. But you were young and fearful, and the fault is mine that you felt alone." His eye touched Sif, and he explained to her, "Tyr threatened to kill Fenrir, if Loki revealed what more there was."

That had been akin to threatening to kill family. Loki had raised Fenrir from a cub himself, and the two had been inseparable for decades, after the queen had given longevity to the wolf when she saw their friendship. The two had been something out of a saga, matching black hair and black fur, as they'd run through the city and played pranks of startling people with the wolf's immense size and intelligence. She remembered Loki's laughter, a sound back then that had carried no bitterness, only delight.

But she had seen when that had changed. She'd caught Loki crying into Fenrir's fur. He'd pretended nothing was amiss and she'd let him keep his pride and his secret. She wished she'd not relented until she'd learned the truth. Maybe she could have saved that delight from twisting to false cheer, and the laughter from darkening with malice. But she had done nothing, ignoring something clearly wrong, because she'd been blinded by the belief that no evil could happen in Asgard.

"Fenrir was my friend. He wanted to protect me and you killed him…" His voice was bitter but faded into a heartsick weariness that was worse to hear, as if he could muster too little energy to be angry. "But at least it was over."

"It will be over when I accuse him," Odin declared grimly. "When he must hold Gungnir and he must face his judgment. As should have happened so long ago."

The king rose to his feet, still leaning on Gungnir, and looked down at Loki. "Now the question becomes, what happens with you?" Odin asked.

Loki's eyes flicked up to Odin's face and then back down, to stare at his fingers, clasped loosely above his knees. "Nothing. This undoes nothing. I caught those thoughts, too," Loki said tonelessly. "All I have done remains."

"That… is not exactly true, Loki," Odin corrected gently. "There are deeds you might yet undo."

That attracted Loki's attention and he straightened to frown at Odin curiously.

"You made a choice," Odin told him. "You knew when you put your hand on Gungnir that everything would be dragged in to the light - not only the truth of these horrors of your youth, and not only the truth that we have been wrong about each other for half of your life. But also the truth of your rage and your secrets and those plans which you laid and are yet to come to fruition. You knew I would see them. And you still chose the truth. You chose justice, over terror; light over darkness. This speaks well of your heart."

Loki dropped his gaze, as Sif frowned. What plans had the Allfather seen in Loki's mind?

"You wanted us to suffer for our ignorance and neglect, and we shall, my son." Odin's deep voice hoarsened, "Knowing how deeply I failed you, it pierces more sharply than any blade. But innocents should not be made to suffer, not as you suffered, Loki. You see that, I know you do, even if you try to tell yourself they deserve it."

"What do you want of me? To say I regret everything? I regret what I did, I regret who I am, I regret _existing_!" Loki flared, upset, as his hands gripped the covers of the bed in tight fists. Sif shook her head in sad denial, and laid a hand over his. His voice faded back to a murmur, "But Malekith has already begun. It's too late."

She gasped. Malekith of Svartalfheim? Dark Elves out of ancient legend? "Oh ancestors, Loki, what did you do?" He flinched from the dismay in her voice. They'd reconciled and she'd bedded him, and all the while, he'd known there was a malicious plan with the dark elves underway that he had not revealed.

"It is not too late," Odin reassured him. "You know the plan. You know him. You can stop it. If you will."

Loki drew a ragged breath, pulling his strength back together, and retorted, "My will has nothing to do with it. I am here forever, or have you forgotten the sentence you yourself imposed?"

Odin glanced away, frowning, and admitted, "You and I have both made poor decisions when in a rage, Loki. Mine was to not look more deeply into your reasons, and yours was to attack people who had done you no harm. But I may undo my wrathful decision, by offering a second chance if I wish."

Sif stared at that. Was he offering to let Loki go?

Odin moved closer, looked down at Loki. Strange how he could sit so close to her and yet seem so distant. "It seems to me, my son, that though we have a better understanding of each other now, we both must learn to trust. You must trust that I believe in you, and I must trust that your anger has diminished and you will choose rightly. The way to do that is by offering you a chance to prove yourself -- I will trust you will leave confinement and unmake this terrible plan with Malekith."

Thirty minutes ago, he would have leaped at the chance to escape, she was certain of that. No matter the strings they had tried to tie to him, and no matter what lies he had to tell to get it, he would have taken the chance and betrayed them all. But now, he looked at his hands and then lifted his gaze to her face then Odin's, uncertainty in every flicker of his eyelashes and twitch of his lips.

"You would do this?" he asked finally. "Release me? Knowing the darkness that even now is a shadow on my heart?"

Odin nodded once. "You are not half as lost as you believe, Loki, or even that you wish you were. But you do not have to be. There was pain and there were misunderstandings and terrible mistakes, but there is love as well. You are still my son, and I wish to make amends. You know that for truth. But… it must be reciprocal; you must want to make amends for your mistakes as well. If you reject this chance and you allow this war to happen when you could stop it, then truly you are lost. It will not be your blood that makes you a monster, it will not be what your family or Tyr did or did not do, it will be you."

Loki understood; his eyes went hooded and thoughtful, and when he glanced at the open front wall, he wanted his freedom. He wanted to take the offer, but he hesitated.

"Loki," she coaxed. "You want to do this. You were not born to be a villain. You have a choice."

"Do I?" he laughed bitterly. "Those stories on Midgard would say otherwise."

"And do you intend to believe stories told by ignorant mortals as if they are a script for you to follow?" she challenged. "If they are all true, then there is a stallion out there somewhere, longing for you."

His eyes snapped to her, as he straightened, offended and incensed, knowing exactly which tale she referenced. Then he remembered that he had once found the story amusing and his lips turned up in a reluctant smile. She folded her hand around his. "We write our own stories, Loki. You can still change the end of yours."

He looked down at their joined hands and lifted her fingers to his lips. "I suppose if this is possible, anything is."

"You're the magician - you do impossible things all the time."

"Malekith is a magician, too, and we are matched in strength," he murmured. "He is a dark spirit, and he sees his chance. He will not turn from this course easily. But," he pulled his hand from hers and lifted his eyes to Odin, saying, "I will do this. To undo what I can."

Odin nodded once. "You have your cleverness and courage, Loki. You will prevail."

She didn't much like the uncertainty that lingered in him as he rose to his feet, fighting leathers re-forming again with a familiar ease. "I should go."

"You will speak to your mother?" Odin asked.

Loki hesitated then gave a shake of his head negative. "There is a letter for her in there." He gestured to the small table, eyes settling on a small golden-covered book, and he added in a softer, more regretful voice, "And … tell her those words I spoke to her last, were false."

"She knows, Loki," Odin reassured him. "But I will give her your letter."

Sif frowned. "How could you have known to write her a letter?"

"I knew I would leave this cell and possibly not ever see her again. You did not expect me to spend forever in here, did you?" he asked with a flash of the old mischievous grin, before it faded away again. "Time is short."

"And Thor?" Odin asked.

"Tell him… He was right. He'll like that. But I need to do this alone." Loki headed for the front but paused at the threshold, as if expecting the barrier to activate against him, and then stepped out to the floor.

She and Odin followed, and Loki faced her again, keeping a careful distance from her as he swallowed hard and murmured to her, "You have always held my heart, Sif, even when I believed it was dead. I would ask you to hold it still, when I must go places where it will not thrive."

"Ah, there's my Loki Silvertongue," she teased but her voice got caught in her throat. She did not like how all his words sounded like farewell. "But how could you think I would not go with you?"

His shock made her smile. "Sif-- I --"

"I do so enjoy surprising you." She glanced at the king, who nodded once in approval. She retrieved her baldric and buckled it again, saying, "I cannot make you promise to return, for I know you will lie. So to make certain you come back, I needs must go with you."

He shook his head in denial. "No, I --"

She checked her sword and thrust it firmly back into the sheath. "You are not going without me."

"Sif, this is my quest to unravel what I have woven, not yours," he objected, but she put a finger across his lips to silence him.

"Did I not promise we would find salvation together?" she asked, more quietly. "You need my sword and my strength, Loki."

He shook his head. "It will be quite dull, I am certain," he said, trying to argue her out of it half-heartedly with such a blatant lie. "Nothing fitting for you to do."

She laughed. "At least you know better than to attempt to dissuade me with danger. Come, you said time was short."

He sighed but gave in, as she knew he would. "Very well."

"Loki. My son," the king said and deliberately moved close enough to clasp Loki's shoulder in a brief squeeze while meeting his gaze. "Heed her. Let her keep you on brighter paths. When you return we shall all of us gather as a family. As it was once so it can be again."

Loki nodded once, but his face held doubt as he turned away, smoothly dislodging the hand. Nor did he say aught to Odin, but he spoke only to her, "If you truly wish to come, hold tight to me and I will take us away."

"Hold you tight? I see this plan." Despite her tease, she stepped close and wrapped her arms around his back beneath his arms and clasped her opposite wrists. Putting her head down, she smelled the leather of his armor at his chest as he murmured under his breath and a frigid cold washed over her skin. She closed her eyes as the pressure increased, a fierce wind blew her hair, and then she felt a sharp, strange pull within as energies seized her and hurled her through the void, to some new place.

They arrived, somewhere. She had to let go of him to balance on uneven footing of chipped obsidian and dark granite. The sky was hidden by storm clouds, and there was only one bare twisted tree in view, clinging to a crack in the broken stones. It felt too warm to be Jotunheim or Niflheim, but other than that, it could be some bleak corner anywhere. It didn't look like the dread home of the ancient, near-mythical Dark Elves.

"So, Svartalfheim?" she said, hand on her hilt as she looked around warily. But it seemed deserted.

"Yes. I thought it best not to arrive in Malekith's throne room. That tends not to be received well," Loki said drily. "We will need to walk. Unless you want me to send you--"

"If you say 'home' I will stab you," she interrupted.

He was resistant, eyes meeting hers and his jaw tight with annoyance and stubborn refusal of what she was offering. "You do not want to be here."

"You should know that unlike some people, I tell the truth. I am with you beause I want to be."

He turned away, folding his arms. "I do not want you here."

By his sharp tone, he was trying to provoke her into an argument, so she gave a sigh. "At least that was honest. Now stop being a petulant child, and let us get on with the quest."

He ignored the insult, maybe did not hear her at all. "You do not understand how dangerous this place is," he murmured. "I barely survived it once before."

"You worry for me?" she asked, curling a hand around his arm to keep him in place as she moved in front of him. "If they attack us, they will find their error soon enough at challenging gods."

A reluctant smile teased at his lips. "Ever fierce Sif…"

"I like how you say my name," she murmured, and she tucked a hand around the back of his neck to bring him down for a kiss.

After, his hand caressed her cheek lightly, as if he needed confirmation she was flesh. "Why did you come? You don't want to see this. How… far I've fallen…" he whispered.

"I know the darkness and rage and desperate unhappiness inside you," she reassured him. "It's driven you to do terrible things. But I know you intend to make it right."

He looked away, gaze seeking the far, broken horizon. "I can't. It's too late."

"We start with what you can. If anyone can keep you on your path out of darkness, I will. You need me."

In tacit admission of that truth, his hands slipped around her body and he held her tightly, his face against her hair. "This will cause so much ruin, laid again at my feet, if I fail to stop it."

"You will not-- we will not," she said. "It will not come to pass, Loki."

"If you had not confronted me, it would," he murmured and glanced at her sidelong, and shook his head at her in rueful appreciation. "And here you are again. Always so brave."

She thought of the secret he'd let slip. It was easy to be brave when she had known the people around her believed in her. How much harder had it been for Loki, when everyone had failed him so profoundly.

Squeezing his hand, she told him, "Whatever comes, I made my choice."

He returned a smile still tinged by uncertainty. "I hope you never regret it." He pulled free of her hand and straightened his posture in determination. "Come, there is no time for sentiment. My ledger drips blood enough already."

He scanned the horizon to get his bearings and set off at a quick pace, heading for a low ridge. She kept watch to the side and their rear guard, knowing the dark elves would have sentries or patrols to find them.

There was much to do: a war to stop, dark deeds to make right, and a heart to renew. But she was there to help him stay strong, and now she understood him so much better than she ever had before.

They had a second chance, and she was determined to make the best of it.

* * *

Thanks for reading! 

The sequel has now posted: [A CROCUS IN THE SNOW ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2460314)


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